


A Cliche That Fits

by scoradh



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-16
Updated: 2014-03-16
Packaged: 2018-01-15 23:52:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1323904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scoradh/pseuds/scoradh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One little spell can change your life.</p><p>Originally written for Merry Smutmas in December 2006.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Cliche That Fits

Neville had not spent a great deal of time on the bottom of the ocean. Yet somehow, it felt like he was cruising along in the deep sea green, saying howdy to schools of silvery fish and brushing slimy weeds with his toes.  
  
Every so often one of the fish would say something. "Neville, Neville, Neville!" was a common refrain, usually enunciated in a shrill, pleading tone. "You've got to wake up," was another, and once "You stupid boy, how dare you sleep through your grandmother's arrival?" It was funny to see the fish's mouths contorting and stretching to form the words.  
  
It was only when one of them spoke in Harry Potter's voice, saying "Neville, please," that Neville deigned to open his eyes.  
  
**  
  
The room was dark. The Healer, one Grayer Brown, had explained that this was because Neville's corneas were in the process of healing from the burns he'd gained in the foiled raid. The main reason it had been foiled was that Neville stepping on the wrong floorboard triggered a series of explosive spells. They rendered the former Death Eater hideout to nothing more than rubble and ashes in ten point five seconds. It was only Harry's quick thinking and skills in Side-Along Apparition that had saved Neville from premature cremation.  
  
By Neville's calculations, this was the seventeenth time Harry had saved him from certain death. It was getting embarrassing.  
  
"The Cell Binding spells shouldn't take more than twenty-four hours to repair your damaged tissues," explained Healer Brown in a brisk, cold voice that was not unlike being hit in the face with an ice pick. "In the meantime, there are many people waiting outside to see you. Shall I invite some of them in?"  
  
 _It's not as if I can stop you, numbskull_ , snarled the part of Neville's brain that was permanently angry about many things. Including belonging to Neville. Aloud, Neville said, "Thank you," and smiled. It was a wasted effort, of course. Closed curtains and Darkening Illusions gave Neville's bedroom an unfortunate affinity with a tomb.  
  
"I'll take that as a yes, then," replied Healer Brown. His voice had dropped several degrees. Neville wondered what on earth could have provoked the man. All Healers were touchy, arrogant and objectionable people -- at least in Neville's considerable experience -- but acting snooty for no reason whatsoever was taking things a little too far.  
  
 _Useless twerp_ , came the unbidden thought. _Probably doesn't even realise that he smells like a baboon's armpit._  
  
With a vast inhalation, Healer Brown wrenched the door open. "He's awake now," he announced. Neville was sure he must have misheard the man's next words, because they sounded an awful lot like, "More's the pity."  
  
He didn't have much time to ponder the Healer's unprofessional behaviour, for a number of people were crowding around his bed. Neville could make out their silhouettes from the slice of light coming through the not-quite-closed door. Even that much illumination made Neville's eyes ache so much he had to close them, and his brain screamed, _Close the door, you fucking idiots!_  
  
A hush fell on the assembled company. He heard a patter of footsteps, followed by a sharp bang. The light disappeared.  
  
"Well," came Hermione's voice, "it seems as if ..." Her voice faltered. "Oh, dear."  
  
 _Spit it out_ , sighed Neville's brain. "What's happening, Hermione?" he asked.  
  
"There were some side effects to the explosion." Hermione reverted instantly to lecture mode. "We think you may have triggered a whole web of spells, among them highly Dark Spells designed for -- well, for genetic modification."  
  
Neville was tired of Hermione treating him like he was a halfwit child, but he knew better than to say so. "What does that mean, in practice?"  
  
There was silence, broken only by a cough. Neville could have picked out that cough in a ward full of sufferers from a 'flu epidemic. It was Harry.  
  
Neville's brain went from angry to fluttery in a matter of seconds. Neville had any number of mile-wide faults and failings, so he couldn't quite rate how bad a weakness were his feelings for Harry. Probably they only rated a four on Neville's Richter scale of personal disasters. On the other hand they had the benefit of longevity on their side, which surely bumped up the rating a notch or ten.  
  
 _Oh, Harry, if only you knew how I felt about you. If only I was different, so you'd want me that way too. Why the hell couldn't I have been born with a vagina?_  
  
" _Neville_!" spluttered Harry. "What are you saying -- what --"  
  
"Oh, dear," sighed Hermione. "I suspected there was some partiality all along."  
  
"Neville?" Ron sounded scandalised. "Since when have you been gay?"  
  
 _What_? Neville thought frantically as his mouth gaped open, totally incapable of such complex motor synchronisation as was required for speech. _What are they talking about? I didn't say anything! Are they reading my mind?_  
  
"No," said Harry, sympathy leaking out of his words like pus from an infection. "Just listening."  
  
It was at that point that Neville's life became one hundred percent worse than it ever had been before.  
  
**  
  
Neville was used to feeling vague nausea on encountering his reflection. The rakes of pimples, the hair that _would_ get greasy five minutes after washing, the inevitable plumpness, the overall resemblance to a pizza on which mould had grown ... all in all, Neville preferred to steer clear.   
  
Up till now, he'd managed to shy away from out-and-out grotesquery, however.  
  
Neville raised a trembling hand, but couldn't bear to touch it. It was glassy and translucent, with a greenish cast to its features. The eyes were closed but the mouth was moving. It released a stream of burbling sounds that Neville could have sworn were present only in the depths of his horrified brain.  
  
"It could have been a spell, or it could have been the impact of the explosion -- or it could have been a combination of both." Healer Brown shrugged. "We are running a series of tests, but as yet we haven't turned up anything conclusive."  
  
"You mean ... I could be stuck like this?" Neville's voice was faint, but that of his doppelganger head was not. " _The hell you say_!" it screamed. " _You're a Healer, aren't you? Bloody well_ heal!"  
  
"As far as I can judge, the shock of your injuries has dislodged your temporal gland." Healer Brown didn't appear fazed by the psychotic imprecations spilling from the lips of Neville's second mouth, which was using words Neville didn't even know he knew. "This gland is present only those of a magical persuasion, and is believed by lay wizards to contain the soul of one's magic. While this is mere supposition, initial studies do suggest that each person's individual magical capability is directly related to the development of his or her temporal gland. It is not such a great leap to suppose the two are closely linked. If it is true that your temporal gland was damaged, it may well explain why certain aspects of your psyche have taken physical form."  
  
"You mean it made me grow a second head?" Neville felt light-headed from shock. "One that blurts out any old thing that I'm thinking -- every private and personal thought I've ever had -- and I can't control it?"  
  
Healer Brown snapped Neville's chart closed. "Not to put too fine a point on it, Mr Longbottom, but yes."  
  
Neville sank back against the pillows. His second head subsided to a quiet murmuring, detailing the many and inventive ways Healer Brown would suffer for this. "Is there any chance of a cure?"  
  
"I wouldn't hold out too much hope, Mr Longbottom," replied Healer Brown. "I am the most experienced neuromagical physician on the staff of St Mungo's, and I have never before encountered a case like this in forty years of practice."  
  
"What am I going to do?" wailed Neville. His other head added, " _You useless smelly excuse for a Healer, I hate you I hate you I hate you_."  
  
"I suggest you invest in a gag." Healer Brown smiled in a very unpleasant way and exited. He left Neville alone with his thoughts, which his second head proceeded to scream at the top of its voice.  
  
"Shut up," Neville told himself.  
  
" _Shut up yourself, fatso_ ," replied his new head.   
  
And then Harry arrived.  
  
**  
  
Neville had thought that life was mortifying enough when he had a secret crush on Harry. In truth, he'd only scraped the top of the iceberg. Once it was revealed to the world, there was enough humiliation left to sink a whole fleet of Titanics and still have some left over for next week.  
  
Neville had never found it easy to converse with Harry in the first place. Harry's hero-status proved an almost impenetrable barrier to gossip. What was Neville supposed to say -- "Remember that time we were nearly burnt alive by Voldemort's dragons?" It didn't really cut it in the witty repartee stakes.  
  
Then again, discussing just how good Harry looked on those old jeans that clung to his prominent hips was not high on Neville's to-do list either.  
  
Neville thought about Harry a lot. He looked at him even more. The beginning of Harry's visit consisted of an almost continuous monologue on the part of Neville's new head, which detailed how Neville could look at the veins on Harry's thin brown hands for hours, and how the slice of skin revealed by Harry's too-short jumper made Neville's heart race, and how Neville wanted to kiss the spikes of Harry's cheekbones more than almost anything in the world.  
  
Fortunately, even when his predilections were safely locked away behind his eyes Neville usually stopped thinking so intensely about Harry after a few seconds. It wasn't conducive to speech, movement, or really anything bar standing with his mouth open and drooling, so his survival instincts kicked in pretty soon. Never soon enough to spare his blushes, but that was Nature for you -- red in tooth and cheek.  
  
They managed to have a decent conversation after that. Neville was usually red and tongue-tied in Harry's presence anyway, so it was unremarkable that he was now. Harry offered his condolences on Neville's head and cracked a joke about how green went with his hair, which confused Neville a little. Much as he liked Harry -- loved him, even -- Comedian of the Year he was not. Still, Neville appreciated Harry's efforts to cheer him up and his valiant pretence that Neville wasn't lusting after him.  
  
It came as no surprise that Harry refrained from visiting after that. He'd only recently announced his engagement to Ginny Weasley, which would have broken Neville's heart if there were anything left there to break. Confessions of cherished regard from Neville would have been uncomfortable and unwanted in any case, but when Harry was on the point of marriage they became doubly so.  
  
"We'll do everything we can to fix this," promised Hermione later.   
  
Neville nodded with both heads. He didn't need to explain that the real problem was something no one could repair. That Hermione already knew.  
  
**  
  
Neville went home after a few weeks, when it became obvious that he was merely taking up room in St Mungo's that could have better benefited someone else. He moved into the gatekeeper's cottage on the grounds of Longbottom Lodge. His grandmother had a fit of the vapours on seeing his second head. Apparently one Neville was bad enough, but two was more than she could bear. Neville felt this rejection deeply, as he felt everything, but he wasn't about to force his company on her. Besides, the gatekeeper's cottage was more than sufficient for Neville -- even with two mouths to feed.  
  
He got the invitation to Harry's wedding, along with an extensive gift list. Neville sent his RSVPs and waited for his world to become a little darker. It didn't, but something else arrived: Harry himself.  
  
He was dressed in old green robes that might have been from the Yule Ball. Neville thought he remembered the way they buttoned at an oblique angle across his neck, so that muscles skittered across a sideways vee every time he breathed. Of course, the moment he thought it the words were on his lips. Harry was already nodding.  
  
"These are the ones," he said. "I've worn them so much they're comfortable now. Ginny hates them -- she only wears robes for one season. Crazy."  
  
"Why are you here?" blurted Neville. He wished to forestall spilling out his conflicted opinions on Ginny -- the girl who'd been his date for the Yule Ball and laughed at his lame jokes, the girl who stole the love of Neville's life.   
  
"Hermione and I have been working on getting rid of that head, but we're still pretty stumped." Harry shrugged. "Then Hermione had an idea, so d'you mind if I try it out?"  
  
"Anything." Neville smiled, a smile that faltered as Harry approached.   
  
"Your breath smells of whiskey," remarked Harry.  
  
"Drinking makes my mind shut up. Or at least makes it so I don't care any more."  
  
"Hmm." Harry's hands were on his waist. Neville wanted to push him away before it got to the point where Neville could never let him go. "You've lost weight?"  
  
"A bit." The self-hating thoughts that crossed Neville's mind whenever he picked up a cake or chocolate bar were now considerably more vocal. There was no way to drown them out any more. Neville had lost about three stone at this stage. "Harry, what are you --"  
  
" _Kiss me, Harry_ ," murmured the head.  
  
And Harry did.  
  
**  
  
Something about princes turning into toads. Neville didn't remember precisely. He'd drunk quite a lot afterwards, to get rid of the feel of Harry's dry lips on his own. In the watches of the night Neville still heard the kiss, though. The slight rustle of starched cloth pressed against two hot skins. The hitched breath. The wet slick give of lips against tongue.  
  
It didn't get rid of the head, anyway.  
  
**  
  
Department of Mysteries employees had been registering Lucius Malfoy's Dark Library ever since his arrest and subsequent Kiss. Hermione had contacts; she had her finger in every pie that involved the printed word. It was she who removed Neville's head and told him about Harry and Ginny's break-up, all on the same day.  
  
When his spewing gratitude was done and he had stopped rejoicing that he had so much control over each word he said, Neville laughingly mentioned the failed kiss. Compared to the numerous noxious potions and painful spells he'd endured, Harry's solution was almost crudely simplistic.  
  
"What kiss?" asked Hermione.  
  
**  
  
Harry found Neville in the garden proper of Longbottom Lodge, elbow deep in fertiliser. In full view of three gardeners and his grandmother's writing parlour, Harry knelt down in the dirt and hugged Neville. His arms around Neville's neck were as warm and hard as sun baked wire.  
  
"You'll get dirty," warned Neville.  
  
"I don't care." Harry pushed him down in between the rows of legumes and kissed him again, tongue hot and searching and insistent. Neville reached up to push Harry off and demand an explanation, but only managed to get mud in his hair. Harry turned to nuzzle Neville's neck and Neville left a stripe of brown across the flushed skin of his cheek.   
  
There was gravelly dirt in a lot of places by the time they were done, and the head gardener handed in his notice.  
  
**  
  
"Why?"  
  
"You wanted me." Harry knocked Neville's queen off the board with rather more than necessary force. "Even Ginny -- she liked the money. And the fame. She never saw me as a person."  
  
"And I do?"  
  
"Maybe not," said Harry, smiling in a flash that struck Neville's heart like lightning, "but you never know. Checkmate, by the way."  
  
**  
  
"Are you sure you're okay with this?" Harry's breath was soft against Neville's cheek. It smelled faintly of the roast beef Neville had made for dinner.  
  
"It's all right, Harry," replied Neville, which was not quite the same thing as yes. Then again, as Harry tightened the silken cords binding Neville's wrists to the bed frame, he decided that perhaps it was.  
  
"You're so fucking ... you." Harry trailed a circle around Neville's bellybutton, dragging his fingers down through crisp curls.   
  
"Aren't you meant to say beautiful, or something like that?" Neville breathed through his nose, trying not to moan as Harry's palms tickled the hollows at the top of his thighs.   
  
"Anyone can be beautiful." Harry shook his head and pushed one slick finger inside Neville. "No one else can be you. I want _you_ ... I want to be inside you."  
  
"I know," gasped Neville. Two fingers, arrowing out, stretching and filling him. Three, velvet heat and deep throbbing pain.  
  
"Tell me you want it too." Harry's voice ended on a scream as Neville's arse clenched around him. Neville arched off the bed, trying to get away. Harry's hands held him fast as he drove deeper.  
  
"Neville?" Harry sounded uncertain now, even though he was helplessly rocking against Neville.  
  
Neville could almost count each muscle as it relaxed. Sweat was breaking out from places he'd never thought about before. Harry was above him, brow furrowed but biting his lip in ecstasy.  
  
"You're all I've ever wanted," whispered Neville.   
  
**  
  
"Come on, I'm freezing," complained Neville. Harry darted across the cold tiles and into bed, releasing a Levitation Charm a little precipitately. Hot chocolate splashed Neville's fingers as he grabbed his cup out of the air.  
  
Ten freezing toes rubbed his calf. "Piss off," Neville mumbled into the rim of his cup.  
  
Harry just laughed and slipped a cold hand into Neville's pyjama pants. "I'm so glad you got that two-headed curse, you know."  
  
"Why? It was so embarrassing. It had me lusting all over you." Neville closed his eyes at the terrible memory.  
  
There was a liquid pause, then Harry was at his ear. "That's why," he whispered.   
  
On consideration, Neville was pretty grateful too.  
  
 _end_


End file.
